Perfectly Overrated Holiday
by Cumberbatch Critter
Summary: In which Sherlock is both John AND Mary's Valentine. [Platonic Johnlockary Valentine's fluff.]


**Perfectly Overrated Holiday**

There was a firm hand on his shoulder, gently jarring him out of his dreams. There was a familiar pressure behind the movement, one that Sherlock recognised from almost a year and a half of living with someone else.

On the other hand, there was someone ruffling his curls, playing absently with his hair, fingertips massaging at his scalp. It wasn't a familiar motion, especially not considering how the hand on his shoulder should have - logically - belonged to John.

Sherlock cracked his eyes open.

"Ooh, he's come around." Mary ruffled his hair playfully, a little too rough for having just woken up, as she smiled down at him.

"He wakes up immediately if I say 'case', but trying to get him out of bed otherwise is a nightmare." That was John's voice, from behind him. He was sitting on the edge of the mattress, if Sherlock had to sleepily deduce, like he had so many times when he'd tried to either get him to sleep or to wake up or nurse him through a fever.

The only difference was Mary was in front of him, smiling down at him. He had either of his two best friends on either side of him. How... odd.

"... You startled me," he mumbled, clearing his throat. "What are you doing here...?" He rolled onto his back, glancing towards his alarm. Just past seven, which was a little early for a Saturday. "Is something wrong?"

"No," John said quickly. "Mary talked me into dropping by."

"Oh." Sherlock propped himself up on his elbows slightly, eyebrows knitting together. "Not that I don't appreciate the company, but is it really necessary to be here so _early_?" He glanced up at Mary as she left the room, and then looked back at John. "Do you need something?"

John smiled. It was slightly sheepish, a little amused and a little apprehensive. Sherlock was instantly suspicious. "Not really, but... yeah, you're really going to have to blame Mary for this one."

"Blame her for what?" Sherlock mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

"Happy Valentine's Day!" Mary said cheerfully, carrying in a tray of breakfast.

Sherlock paused, fingers still pressed against his right eye. "Oh, good God."

John laughed. "I told you he'd say that."

"And I told _you_ that I didn't care." Mary carried the tray over. "You'll have to blame John for the bacon, he's already eaten half of it out of the pan. Sit up."

"Mary-" Sherlock felt himself frowning, but he could also smell the bacon and his stomach grumbled in appreciation even if it was annoying. "This is bypassing a level of stupidity that I wasn't even sure you could bypass," he continued, shoving his pillow back to sit up. "And isn't this something that _you_-" he looked at John "- are supposed to be doing for _her_?" He looked back at Mary, and gripping the tray loosely as Mary placed it on his lap.

"I did. We just planned ahead, is all."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "This is ridiculous."

Mary chuckled from where she had taken a seat next to him again. "So why is your stomach growling, then?" She picked up a piece of bacon. "Be our Valentine?" she asked, offering it to him.

"I can't be two people's Valentines." He took the bacon and nibbled on it. "I don't think. I've never been anyone's Valentine, although a lot of the girls at my school evidently desired it."

He could practically _hear_ John's eyebrows shoot up. "You never told me that."

Sherlock shrugged. "Nothing to tell. I got scribbled on scraps of paper with atrocious poetic expressions of their love of my... mystery and intrigue." He licked his lips and reached for the fork.

"'Mystery and intrigue'?" John repeated incredulously. "Didn't they realise that you were just a git?"

"Oh, but a mysterious, seemingly anti-social guy has the biggest heart," Mary said contemplatively, smiling over at John. "The most love to give towards the people he actually decides to give it to." She looked back at Sherlock.

Sherlock paused in chewing, raising an eyebrow. "What are you suggesting?"

"Big heart," Mary repeated, sharing another look with John that made it seem like Sherlock was missing out on a personal joke.

"Uh huh."

Sherlock scowled, forking more hash into his mouth. "Was the only reason you came over to feed me up and beg my indulgence on another perfectly overrated holiday?"

John laughed, hiding his smile behind his knuckles. "Basically."

"Oh, Sherlock," Mary teased. "You're too adorable."

Sherlock leaned away as Mary reached forward towards his face. "What are you doing? You're giving off a vibe like my mother. Please stop," he grumbled, taking a large bite of toast. "This ish good, dough, so you do haf a little something on."

"Oi, how do you know I didn't cook that?" John interrupted. "Why are you looking at her?"

"You can't cook bacon, you always burn it, and you always bust the yolk when you make eggs like this." He jabbed his fork towards his plate.

"Well, thanks," John continued, sarcasm dripping from his tone.

"I didn't say you couldn't cook in general. I like other things you make."

"Ooh, that's a compliment," Mary said. "On Valentine's Day, too. That _does_ happen."

"It _wasn't_ a compliment, it was the truth."

"It was a compliment," John agreed.

Sherlock sighed theatrically, reaching for his tea. "So you've come to feed me up _and_ gang up on me. Thank you. Wonderful holiday." He faked toasting them both with his mug before swallowing a mouthful. "I feel so chuffed."

He struggled not to smile, shovelling more of breaky into his mouth to draw himself out of the conversation. His own sarcasm combined with the setting was starting to get to him as he came more and more around. The breakfast was good, the company was good, not having to get out of bed for a rumbly stomach was good (not that he'd admit any of that out loud).

He'd forgotten about Valentine's Day, actually. It was just another stupid day that was over-commercialised and involved too much pink and too many emotions. This... wasn't bad, though. (Not that he'd admit _that_, either.)

"Wait until part two," Mary stated. Her eyes were twinkling with humour, another joke that Sherlock didn't know.

Sherlock licked jam from his fingers. "What's part two?"

"That would be-" Mary pulled a clear container from behind her back. "Chocolate covered strawberries!"

Sherlock blinked rapidly.

John chuckled. "Told you he liked them."

"He has a sweet tooth and he always has strawberries in the summer, not a big deduction there, John." Mary popped the container open. "But points for trying, love. Sherlock?"

Sherlock licked his lips. "What?"

Mary held a strawberry aloft, raising her eyebrows.

Sherlock frowned slightly, reaching out for it. His frown deepened when Mary pulled the strawberry away. "What?" he repeated impatiently.

"Mary."

"Oh, hush, John. Sherlock?"

"I don't know what you want." _I want that strawberry_, he added mentally, and stared over his breakfast towards her.

"_You_ want _this_," she retorted, waving the strawberry.

"Yes," he said slowly.

"Well?" She held it out to him again, looking at him expectantly.

"Well wha-" _Oh_. He understood now. "That's something for you and John to do, isn't it, hand feeding each other while gazing lovingly into each other's eyes?"

"We've got two packs of these and a bottle of champagne waiting for us at home," she said coyly.

"_Mary_!" John protested.

"Oh, he would have figured it out anyway. Come on, Sherlock," she said cheerfully, waving it under his nose.

Sherlock's frown evened out. "Fine then." He reached forward and gripped Mary's elbow, drawing her arm forward so that he could take a bite of the strawberry without upending his breakfast tray. Juice dribbled down from his lips onto Mary's fingers and he chased it away with his tongue, earning him a simultaneous _oi!_ from John and a laugh from Mary. "Don't doubt me," he said seriously, and reached forward to take the container of strawberries from her.

"I reintegrate," Mary said, wiping her hand on the duvet, "you're too adorable."

"I don't need coddled." He dug for the largest strawberry.

"Don't care, I'm doing it anyway."

"Uh huh." Sherlock smiled and bit into another berry. "Happy Valentine's, Mary. John," he added, raising his eyebrows towards him.

"Your ears are pink," John retorted. "You're blushing."

"Maybe," Sherlock said absently. "But so are you."

John huffed softly and swiped a piece of bacon from Sherlock's plate.

"Don't nick my bacon, it's my Valentine's."

"Don't lick my wife, she's my Valentine."

Sherlock laughed out loud, casting a side glance at Mary. "If I'm quote-unquote 'too adorable', he has to be, too."

"Oh, of course." Mary leaned across Sherlock's legs to kiss John.

"Ugh. Get a room," Sherlock complained. "_Not _my room."

When they both laughed in reply, Sherlock chuckled to himself and idly licked the melted chocolate away from his own fingers. Maybe it wasn't such a bad holiday, after all.

* * *

**Happy Valentine's Day! I celebrated with chocolates and _Sherlock_ and repeatedly saying _I can't believe Benedict got married on Valentine's Day, that (romantic) sod._ And I shall watch tSo3 later with some cake and be generally content. So, Happy Forever Alone Day, too, because being alone is not a bad thing! Love yourself~ and if all else fails, have your friends buy you some chocolate covered strawberries. xP**

**I do not own _Sherlock_. Thanks for reading!**


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